Falling Roses
by Blueberry Absinth
Summary: There had been too many choices and too many problems. BulgariaxAnyone
1. Falling Roses

**FrUk will always be my Hetalia OTP, but the concept of FrancexBulgaria intrigues me. And this particulsr plot bunny**

**I dunno whether I'll make it in a multi-fic, or a series of drabbles. I have a few other things I have on my head and we'll see.**

**Discl.: All rights go to their respective owners ^.^**

**Kinda short though I think it's the best length for it :D**

* * *

Falling Roses

_May, 21__st__ century_

If out there, on Earth, existed a Heaven, then it would've been in the centre of Bulgaria. Just a little, blessed piece of heaven, situated between a great mountain and the vast plains of a wide river. It was a little valley, whose fragrance of green and lost tales, brought about serenity unknown anywhere else. Everything became exceptionally beautiful when in May the roses finally opened their petals and spread their lovely essences, truly worth the fame for one of the best roses in the world.

Bulgaria loved coming here. It was one of the quieter places where he could run away from his bosses who were too busy thinking up who to blame because of another bunch of money disappearing, too blind to see their country's state. It was… refreshing.

But, on a side note, it felt strange when there was almost no one with him. It wasn't like it used to be, with the songs and the flirting between the girls and boys, and so on. Now his only companions were the falling rose petals.

In that a position was he found. Usually no one could find him if he wanted to hide. After all he'd managed to hide himself from his people's hearts _for 5 centuries_ when he was under the Ottoman empire's rule. And France had found him.

Aleksander clearly remembered that man and his enviable beauty. He remembered when he wanted to be like that country and imitated him up to the point he's use French words without actually knowing their meaning. It had taken time and a slap from a genius for him to reawaken. And, even now, respect still remained without the need of mindless following.

The lovely-blue eyes were gazing a little longingly at the vast expanse of rotting beauty as if it was something worth looking at. Among the pink petals, flying in the wind, he looked striking, like an angel with a halo of winds and flowers. Those thin fingers were touching each blossom carefully, testing every single one of them. His skin was white, without a single drop of sweat on it, looking softer than the petals.

A few words from the language of his streets came to his tongue, wishing him to let them out, but Bulgaria kicked them back in his multi-personality mind.

His eyes followed every little movement France made. He watched as the other nation slowly, but surely came to him, probing and testing the roses, delicately breathing their scent, searching for the best one. The closer he came, the more beautiful he looked. Each of his steps was filled with grace and something that could only be defined as _French_.

His bowed head raised and the most pervert nation on the Earth shot him a flirtatious smile, casually picked up the rose he'd deemed perfect and smelled it. His eyes were either watching the other nation or the vast expanse of roses.

"_Ils sont beaux." _


	2. Of Noise and Silence

**This was simultaneous. Wow ^.^**

* * *

*~Of noise and silence~*

It was just an ordinary world conference – the usual quarreling, the usual faces. The only difference was just that everyone looked and acted livelier than usual. The room was in a mess and the quarreling Nations were a sight to observe.

As usual, America was arguing with England about something trivial, but 'essential-to-be-discussed' AGAIN (at least it didn't sound like it was about global warming LIKE USUAL). The other weren't exactly sleepy heads too (excluding, of course, Greece who was calmly snoring ) – the Baltics were shivering as usual even though Russia wasn't paying them any attention, Belarus and Korea were revealing to each other their experiences as Pro-Stalkers and swapping knowledge about the art of stalking. Unbestown to both of them, the objects of their, hmm 'love affections', Russia and China were quite busy groping each other and Hungary was grinning evilly from behind her camera.

Sealand was trying to get someone's attention, whoever he (or she) may be, but his searchings were ignored as usual, safe for a curious Lichtenstein. As usual, Germany was trying to create something akin to control with a little more passion than usual; little, sad and confused Italy was poking the back of the bigger blond man. Canada was nowhere in sight.

Was it some kinda Be-extra-hyper-and-noisy day? The only ones more silent were him… and France, who was looking at America and England.

Aleksander's eyes stayed on that guy until his ogling was noticed. With a flash of a pearly-white smile, Francis Bonnefoy touched his lips with a forefinger in a gesture of keeping quiet. The Bulgarian cocked an eyebrow. The Country of Love wasn't acting as usual, if his observations were right.

"You aren't like your usual self," Bulgaria commented as the other man came nearer, still flashing a smile that looked like it was fake.

"Don't grant those two the attention that is all for me," he shot a small flirtatious smile towards him, but instead it melted away in the space between the two of them.

Aleksander raised an eyebrow, tempted to say that he hadn't been staring at them, but refrained from letting that slip his tongue.

"Are they talking about the global warming again?"

Francis nodded with mock-surprise etched over his features.

"Ehh, how did you know? I mean, it's so hard to guess…" he grinned with triumph as the other guy snorted and then laughed out fully.

Said other guy then stopped for a second to think. Global warming wasn't something new, even before America'd suggested it and hadn't stopped talking about it since then. Heck, it had appeared long before, they'd even thought about world meetings. So, wasn't it a little too late?

"The global warming's started long ago, right?" the Balkan nation waited his conversation buddy to nod, "So isn't it kind of 'after rain, a hood'?"

"Eh? 'After rain, a hood?" Francis repeated, confused by the word choice, "What's that mean?" he got a confused look as a response.

"It's late to start, isn't it?" Aleks asked him slowly, wondering why he wasn't understood.

"Ahh," suddenly it clicked to the French: it was an expression of the other's language. A snigger escaped his mouth – two could play a game, as England said it.

"A mouse that has only one hole, is soon captured."

"Ehhh? What's that mean?"

"Better safe than sorry."

"Ah."

A short silence followed, but it was interrupted by the laughter of the two Nations: they'd just found out they'd said the same things after the other had said an expression from his language.

* * *

**Should I make it in BulgariaxEveryone? *has ideas for others than France* **


	3. Turdus merula

**This was supposed to be SerbiaxBulgariaxKosovo, a half-sibling-like, half-romantic triangle (you'll see why sibling-like) but it got too big so I had to cut it. **

**I kinda went proverb-happy with this chappy. Ah, well. I'd forgotten how nice they were ^.^ I did so many things I wanted to do xD 'jumps around happily'**

**I think I'm the only one who manages to make Original Characters OOC… **

* * *

_~*Turdus merula*~_

And, in the end, everything played out the way it had to be. Aleksander had known that blonde guy was all drooling after England (who was just too stubborn to say that he was doing the same) and was just using other Nations to… well, he wasn't sure about the actual reason, having a few theories on that theme. But the essence was the fact that nothing happened and everything was all right.

Away from any bosses, the two men had met and discussed that thoroughly. Hearts were laid to be seen the whole and the two decided to continue the friendly relationship without them going off into any romantic relationship. They shared the opinion that it would be better for their people if they stayed in a close relationship – being a Nation meant that they had to think of their people as well, seeing as that their choices created history and humanity's happiness. And Francis had promised him to help him in freeing his medics in Libya. It was a little gesture that told him that despite their refusal to get intimate, they'd continue their alliance.

And while watching him chase Arthur around during the last world meeting, Aleksander had to admit that the Frenchman was much happier than before.

Ah, well. Time to look for someоne else.

But before that, some leisure activities. It was summer after all and the sun was shining quite warmly on the land which by the way was Serbia's. But from what he'd gathered, the population here was getting quite annoyed from the way his governors made the law and because of the different cultures, the whole district had been planning to try and make itself independent. Using that piece of information, it was safe to assume that probably another personified country would pop up soon.

A personified country who'd almost surely loathe Serbia. Bulgaria was so acknowledging him.

But first he should wait for him to come to his knowledge. He shouldn't be selling the pigs before their birth.

But the golden chicken wouldn't come to him while he was all sitting like that. But, on the other hand, the fast bitch-dog bore them blind.

Or how England said it, haste makes waste. That piece of advice was being used by the Balkan nations for a long time.

So, the Nation decided to just lay under some tree and imitate one of his oldest rivals, Greece – sleep under the welcoming shadow of an oak.

And he dreamt. For others, it may have not been something that big an accomplishment. Dreams, whatever, they'd say but for a Nation whose being was consisted of all minds of its country, it was. For someone, whose identity was split to amazingly little pieces, each one a tinier petite bit unique, the same as the others, but every lone glittering with its own special spark, accurate dreams were rare. When Nations slept, the consciousnesses that created them stood in the centre of reveries, together forming a sun, a small supernova, which lighted the valley of dreams. And, despite every second that passed and the intensity of the light, one was able to see every twinkle.

In the dream alone, there wasn't any consistency. Tiny flashes of the happiness every day gave to everything but rarely someone paid it attention. After all who would be attentive to little changes, like the apple turning from green to red, the baby blackbird turning into a grown up? Dreams had to have that quality – to show things no one noticed in the waking world.

Countries dreamt of small details that happened in their lands. Details that would always happen in dreams. Be it sunflowers opening hopeful petals upon the sun rays, be it a two people wandering in a bamboo thicket, warm western waters washing yellow beaches or a blackbird fluttering past a rose.

Random glimpses that held importance to some chosen. Random glimpses, which were nothing but mere memories, repeated over the centuries.

Something poked him. Once more and once more.

"Fine, fine, I'm waking up," once one succumbed to sleeping, it was really hard to wake up, Aleksander figured as he opened his drowsy eyes. Trying to clean the dream cobwebs from his brain, for the first time he acknowledged that Greece had made a nice decision when, long, long ago, he'd decided to pass the annoyance when waking up by simply not waking up. Flash of a genius.

"Hiya," came a chirpy female voice. Wait, what? Chirpy and _female_? Who could that be? Hungary couldn't be, never her, Lichtenstein was too shy to just randomly go and talk _chirpily_ to a Balkan nation, not while Sweden was afraid when she went to a little hare. There was no way Belarus could come here, as seen that Russia wasn't here, there were no evil whispers 'marrymarrymarry…' and so on.

Instead of wondering without opening his eyes, the Bulgarian chose to open drowsy eyes and see whoever was in front of him.

Facing him, a small innocent-looking girl was swinging herself from toes to heels, forward, then backwards, in a strange manner of clock tick-tocking. Fully awake now, Aleksander stood up to look at her from head to feet. Long black hair, big warm eyes that shone with that special something that was special for Slavs. She was truly a Balkan nation.

"Who are you?" Rash, without any manners, typical acting of him. Even though she might be a potential ally, regardless of her size. In the back of his mind, a strange, confusing thought about some psychology ran about just the border to his conscious mind, but then was lost in all the ramblings in his subconscious.

"They call me Kosovo," her eyes did the same as him, looking at him with pure unhidden child's curiosity, the one untainted, never able to be executed by others but a small infant.

The name of her (soon-to-be) country. No human name, no individuality. Just one of them all. But someone against his foe. No matter how small she appeared, it remained here.

When was she born, Aleks randomly thought, still looking at her. Maybe he should ask her what time. But first, her human name. If she didn't have, he'd give her one.

"I don't think I have a human name," she said with slow, needless carefulness, after being asked. "I don't remember Serbia-onii-chan giving me one."

She didn't call Serbia by his human name, either (but called him 'big brother' nonetheless). However, she knew what he was talking about when asked. Which meant some info had been thrown to her. That at least.

"Well, if you don't have," the Bulgarian smiled broadly, mentally going through his list of French words, "I can give you one, if you want."

"Really?" her eyes lit up with joy and something strange shot through his heart. "I'd love to," and pounced onto him to glomp him, then moved away with a quick step.

As a small black-haired head bowed, as her cheeks painted red, Bulgaria wondered whether it was a good thing to do that, to make a symbol of something lost, using something new. His hand, not knowing what to do, raised and patted on the head, lips forming into a half-hearted smile.

"How about 'Merle'?"

Vivid eyes looked up with curiosity, then she jumped from joy so high that for moment the two were on the same height. A grin outstretched on her face.

"It's great!!"

Unknowingly, he grinned at her antics.

"So-o, Merle, what do you want us to do now?" he asked, accenting the name, and looked over to her, who had calmed down and was now thinking about something with an almost pained expression.

"I think I've got a human name," Merle said, pensive. After a few seconds, she shrugged "Ah, well," then she pounced off to a random direction, quickly followed by Aleksander. "What're we going to do??"

"That's what I asked…"

* * *

**I want to dedicate this chapter to tedy1. This amazing girl gave me so much information that I think I'll be writing so much chapters if I use everything (which was very interesting ^.^). She endured all my stupid quirks and actually found a name which meant 'blackbird'. Heck, she practically shaped out the whole chapter. I bow to thee! **

**Merle – French for a 'blackbird'. It was a coincidence… (Kosovo comes from the word for 'blackbird')**

**A small rant ('cuz the timeline might seem jagged) – 24****th**** July, 2007, the Bulgarian medics and the Palestinian doctor in Libya were released. So everything's happening before that that. On the other hand, Kosovo gained independence in 2008. BUT (one big butt rofl)! Rome wasn't built in one day. The wish to be independent doesn't come in one day. I think the anger at the government, the want to be independent, has to be born long before they decide to declare themselves independent. You can't just go out and shout '(insert country name)'s free!!!'. No one shall even hear you. When people want to become independent, then a personification appears. At least, in my head…**


	4. In the heat of the moment

**In light of the olympic games a small drabble **

* * *

Out on the volleyball court, they meet for the seventh time this year.

Three times had one of them won, three times - the other.

It was the decisive match.

Ludwig's blond hair was slicked back by the sweat that had already gathered there. Clear blue eyes were focused on the grinning brunette only he could see. His breathing was already laboured and the fact that Bulgaria's volleyball players were quite good didn't help at all. Also, that confident smirk on his opponent's face was making strange things happen to his mind and body. As always.

Not that he showed it.

And then Bulgaria was speaking and it was a low murmur from across the court, but he could still hear it. The ball was moving up and down, from the floor to his hands. The other nation's legs were bent, just like they had to be, the stance ready for action, coiled like a spring.

"You ready?"

Ludwig didn't let himself lose concentration. The only thing the Bulgarian got was a barely visible nod and a squint of his eyes.

Bulgaria only smirked wider, threw the ball high, high in the air and beat it into the German's field.


End file.
